Christmas Morning

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The angled light of the low sun

Sprawls wearily on clod and furrow

As robins hide in straggled hedges.

Across a sodden meadow, behind

Barbed twists of rose and bramble,

Whitewashed chapel walls contain

The ancient anthems raised in praise,

While candles burn with jocund flicker

And the old year's fecund lies prepare

The way for tomorrow's truths.

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